


By Starlight

by PixieInquisitor



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:30:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixieInquisitor/pseuds/PixieInquisitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen waxes philosophic on the developing and somewhat complex relationship between himself and the Inquisitor while a dark shadow falls over Skyhold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. By Starlight I'll Kiss You

**Author's Note:**

> In terms of tone, this is basically the song that defines Cullen's relationship with the Inquisitor for me: Hozier - Take Me To Church http://youtu.be/MYSVMgRr6pw

The wind had picked up. It whistled through the opening in the roof with sufficient intensity as to rouse Cullen from his fitful sleep. He looked up through the loose timbers to see black clouds scudding across the stars. The weather was turning.

He sighed, not much time had passed since he had dragged himself up the ladder to sleep. Certainly not enough time to dull the ache behind his eyes or calm the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, a combination of late nights spent reading reports by candlelight and lyrium withdrawal's long tail.

They were overdue.

He turned over. There should be recent scout deployments sitting amongst the stack of reports on his desk, perhaps if he co-. A muffled sleepy sound emanating from the bed momentarily startled him out of his reverie. 

Reaching out into the darkness he gently pulled back the bedcover made inky black in the dimness. The scar on his lip drawing the line of his mouth into a soft smile as the the Inquisitors hair became visible from its depths. From what little detail he could discern in the twilight, she was lying on top of the tangle of covers he had created, then cocooned herself in them against the chill air.

He never felt cold when he slept anymore. Perhaps it was a side effect of the lyrium leaving his system, or the panicked heat of worsening nightmares, but he barely needed the covers. Their current occupant shifted slightly and shivered as if to remind him of the cold air funnelling in via the starlit ceiling, and the hole he had created in her protective barrier.

With the wicked glint in his eye lost to the darkness he pulled the entire bundle towards him. Encircling it with a strong arm he felt her first stiffen at the sudden fluid movement, then relax as the heat radiating off his bare chest began to warm her slumbering form through the layers of fabric. 

She had been absent a long time. Venatori activity was more expansive than thought. Red lyrium mines discovered. Darkspawn. Rifts. Endless riddles in the dark. 

Corypheus.

Relying mostly on touch he gently peeled back the covers until he could make out a little of her features. She looked tired. Drained. He lightly traced the contour of one cheek with a long finger. Gently pushing back a stray lock of hair in the process. 

She had fallen asleep with her back to him again. Why hadn’t she woken him? Her party were nearly two weeks overdue and hadn’t he just been mulling over sending scouts out to meet them on the road to discern the delay. A lame mount? Inclement weather in the pass leading to Skyhold? An injury perhaps? He would have to have a quiet yet stern word with Leliana tomorrow.

His unexpected guest stirred softly again. Exhausted though she appeared, she was at least sleeping soundly for the moment. Warm. Safe. Carefully to avoid jostling her further he protectively curved himself around her, adjusting the small fraction of the beds coverings that remained available to him on the pretence of maintaining some modesty, and nestling his head into her hair. His warm breath tickling at the back of her neck.

Breathing deeply he closed his eyes. She smelt of mandarins and basil, leather, petrichor and ……, something he couldn’t immediately place. Faintly earthy. A herb? Perhaps something she had picked up in her travels? She was always stopping to harass strange plants for their bounty.

He dismissed the tug at his memory. She had returned to him, that was all that mattered right now.

The first time he had awoken to find her sharing his bed had been the night after the assault on Adamant Fortress. Having been awake for days and functioning primarily on strong tea and sheer force of will, he was forced to snatch scant rest as troop deployments had allowed; upon the close of the battle and having received confirmation of the return of the Inquisitor and her companions from the Fade, he had seen to his men, able and wounded, then wearily retired to his tent. 

He had barely made it out of his armour before collapsing into an exhausted sleep on his bedroll waking some time later to discover the Inquisitor, wrapped in a blanket sleeping lightly on his arm carelessly flung outward in his sleep. Her delicate slender fingers intertwined with his. 

He buried the beaming smile that memory always brought to his lips in the graceful curve of her neck feeling her muscles react instinctively to the sensation his stubble made against her skin. Resting his lips lightly against her skin he kissed her neck, drinking in more of her scent, then carefully, so not as to disturb her further, drew back, content to pillow his head amongst the tendrils of her hair least he wake her. 

With each encounter his self control was becoming more brittle. She was the simply intoxicating. Bewitching. Perplexing.

His.

As inarticulate as he often found himself in her presence when they were alone, his relationship with the Inquisitor confused him utterly at times. Other than a seemingly mutual desire for companionship, and snatching small, intimate, moments together as duty permitted, she seemed to be less interested in progressing the physicality of their relationship. 

Familiar doubts arose. She is the head of the Inquisition; Andraste’s Herald; he the leader of its armies. Maker! What was he thinking! Kissing her on the battlements like that! 

Having been caught off guard by his desire, she had stood frozen in his embrace for what felt like an eternity, and that moment had threatened to shatter his heart, even in its remembrance. 

The number of times she had requested to “borrow” him after that day to whisk him back to the battlements only acted to confuse him further. Not to mention her current sleeping arrangements. Was it the lyrium? Withdrawal presented a unique set of challenges to him, but was it responsible for their physical distance? 

_Lyrium._

He squeezed his eyes shut in the darkness, the pain behind his temple swelling painfully into an acute stab as if summoned. 

Breathing deeply to calm the sudden pain, his mind soon drifted back to his musings. It’s not like he could just wake her up and ask her directly what her intentions were for him. 

Could he? 

Maker’s breath! What would she think of him asking such a thing of her now.

There had been an uncomfortable time after the destruction of Haven and the discovery of Skyhold, when he had been convinced that his deepening affection wasn’t reciprocated. His inability to exhibit anything but awkwardness around her in the scant private time available to them had lead her to eschew his company altogether, opting instead to spend her free time almost exclusively buried in dusty tomes with Dorian, or arguing with Solas.

Solas still made him slightly uncomfortable. For all of the mage’s scholarly good manners he had on occasion observed him watching the Inquisitor with an intensity reminiscent of an apex predator, and that made him wary. 

Dorian and Cullen had initially bonded over a shared appreciation for chess. The flamboyant mage was excellent company and while he had initially been convinced he had lost any hope of winning the Inquisitors affection to the deep connection that had developed between the two, Cullen’s read of the mage was that he was only truly interested in men despite his seemingly boundless and enviably easy capacity for flirting.

With the Inquisitor travelling more he felt much easier knowing that Dorian was accompanying her, whatever their strange connection. That man was death personified on the battlefield so much so that Cullen had no doubt who would emerge the victor if they were ever to clash, lyrium or no. The thought sent a small shiver up his spine.

As if detecting his sudden restlessness, his sleepy charge mumbled something incoherently and snuggled into him more deeply. Chuckling silently to himself he could have sworn she said “Sparkler”.

His thoughts started to drift more aimlessly as weariness began to reclaim him.

He drifted in and out of sleep. Treasured quiet moments on the battlements mixed with life in the Ferelden Circle. Meredith’s scream as the red lyrium claimed her. The Herald as she collapsed exhausted into the blizzard as he ran towards her. The sweet taste of her lips, cool in the morning breeze. Blood dripping off the abominations claws as it turned towards him. The pull of her hands on his hips as he kissed her. The dragon’s shrill call as the battlements of Adamant crumbled. Chess in the garden. The way the dappled light in the War Room makes her eyes appear to change colour. The rage demon swelling to it’s full height shrieking, acrid smoke rising to choke the air already aflame. The sensation of fingers gently brushing his face…

Turning his head he was able to intercept the palm of her hand as she traced the lines of his face with a delicate finger. 

“Good morning - ”. Mumbling into her palm as he kissed it he had carefully left the phrase unfinished least the conviction of his affection spook her. _My love._

She let out a quiet throaty chuckle as he continued to feign sleep, tickling her hand with his stubble. She moved it to the safety of his cheek, tracing the line of the scar above his lip with her thumb as she did so. 

“Miss me?” 

“Always.”

Maker she did sound exhausted. With one of the lopsided grins he seemed to keep just for her speeding across his face, he made another impulsive decision and started to draw her towards him - propriaty be damned - he instinctively felt her tense in pain before he heard the small hiss that escaped through her teeth, or became aware of her hand slipping from his face racing to sooth the hurt.

She was injured.

In one fluid motion his eyes shot open and he sat up, concern now etched deep in his features. “You’re injured.”

There was no question in his voice. 

She reacted with a subtle blush, and an embarrassed smile under his scrutiny. “Well, you see … there was a ah… I was trying to…”. Her reply tapered off. She sighed. “We were ambushed by Red Templars on the road and I, ah, may have picked a fight with a tower shield, and … lost.” She paused as he continued to wordlessly study her face, her blush deepened. “There may also have been a hedge involved.” 

She carried on quickly. “I’m fine really, just a few cuts and bruises, I swear my dignity took more of a hit, and Dorian did his best at patching me up for the trip home.” 

Sighing, she pulled back the tangle of covers enough so he could catch a brief glimpse of the bandages that engulfed most of her right arm. Having previously been on the receiving end of one of Dorian’s strange smelling Tevinter healing poultices, he could now place the herbal scent he had detected earlier.

His heart still pounding a little in his chest, instinct screaming at him that something was wrong subsiding, he carefully leaned over and kissed her deeply before resting his forehead on hers, carefully moving his weight so as not to cause her more pain. Her injury didn’t appear extensive, and having been on the receiving end of many shield blows during his Templar training he could appreciate their particular sting. 

“Well”, he purred finally after studying her for a few more moments, “I suppose it is only fitting given my vested interest in the outcome, that it should fall on me to give Andraste’s Chosen a few finer pointers as to how to avoid getting bested by mortal shields in future. Once your arm has healed”, he added somewhat more seriously.

Relaxing now that his intensity had passed, and chuckling under her breath she returned her hand to his face, running her thumb along his cheek. The mark on her palm, or perhaps the realisation of their sustained proximity making his skin tingle. She leaned forward, wincing slightly to gently brush a soft kiss against his lips. 

“And avoiding finding myself flat on my back in a hedge?”

“I may be able to provide a couple of suggestions”, his tone a teasing purr as he stole another kiss in the developing dawn.


	2. As Lovely As A Wish Granted True

“Is it to your liking Ser?” The smith enquired again, this time a little louder over the surrounding clang of steel meeting iron.

Cullen took a couple of trial swipes with the tiny blade he had commissioned. In a hand used to a sword, or at least a more traditionally sized knife, it looked and felt a little bit toy-like. Grimacing at the odd sensation of it, he switched it to his off-hand, flicking it around his wrist in an elaborate flourish and catching it with well practised ease. The weight felt about right, and the balance was exceptional. Above all else, the intricate pattern folded into the steel, polished to a radiant sheen, really set the workmanship apart. It really was a tiny thing of beauty. Of death. With the appointed time fast approaching, it would have to do.

It was perhaps an overly sentimental gesture, given its intended recipient, but he had reasoned that it may just keep it her safe in a tense moment. 

He couldn’t ask of it any more than that.

“Excellent work Master Smith, it will do nicely.” The man beamed at the complement.

Making his way back to his office, Cullen nodded at Scout Harding as he passed her entering the tavern, quickening his pace so as not to get drawn into conversation. Taking the stairs leading to the battlements two at a time, on a whim he stopped briefly to admire the view over the frozen valley. 

Long tendrils of campfire smoke from the Inquisition forces garrisoned on the frozen river far below floated lazily upward in the still, crisp air, mixing with wisps of white cloud overhead. It was a stunning sight that he didn’t appreciate often enough.

Feeling invigorated, he entered his office, depositing the tiny dagger with the other items he had collected in a bundle by the door. Sensing movement, he moved fluidly to intercept the reports one of Leliana’s agents was in the process of walking towards his desk. The young man having nearly simultaneously entered through the door on the other side of the tower.

Cullen gave the documents a cursory glance, the first two could wait, the third however: “Tell Sister Nightingale that I would still prefer to send a small group of soldiers in support; I have just received reports of renewed Darkspawn activity in the area and we cannot afford to be caught off guard.” The agent acknowledged with a brief “Commander”, saluting fist to heart. 

“Also, please see orders for the deployment drawn up. There are a number of soldiers from that area recently returned from patrol, see that one or two are included who know the area well.” 

Still mid-salute Cullen could see the question forming on the agents lips “Ser?”. His preference for doing such work himself was well known amongst the men and women who served in the Inquisition forces at Skyhold. 

As a commander he was firm in the belief that ordering those under his command into certain danger should never be undertaken lightly. Taking time to prepare such documents by hand, and in consultation with his colleagues in the War Room had often afforded him time to complete his due diligence on the operation. Consider strategies. Alternatives. Plan. Act.

“I am leaving to oversee a training exercise this afternoon, and I would see this matter progressed in my absence. Please see - “.

“ - a list of suitable local scouts prepared in consultation with Scout Harding, requisitions prepared, and orders ready for your signature upon your return. Aye Commander. I will also see to organising relief for those taken off patrol, and the duty roster appropriately amended for your approval.” Tendering another crisp salute the agent plucked the page out of Cullen’s grasp, and spinning quickly on his heel headed towards the door.

Impressed, and somewhat taken aback, Cullen enquired to the agent’s rapidly receding back “What is your name Agent?”. 

“Cooper, Ser. Recently arrived from assignment at Caer Bronach in Crestwood, Ser.”

“Welcome to Skyhold Cooper.” 

“Thank you Ser. I look forward to assisting you.” At Cullen’s nod the young man exited quickly through the door.

With an forlorn glance at the pile of paperwork on his desk, a pile that had rather perplexingly doubled in size during his short visit to the smith, he retrieved his shield, and gathered the new blade and bundle he had placed by the door. 

Exiting the keep over the long bridge in quick purposeful strides, he was soon in the small, treelined, glade he had designated for today’s activities.

As he had walked he had let his mind wander. He didn’t often find himself in a position to consider his future. Too much work requiring his attention in the present. The Inquisition was well on its way to becoming the stabilising force they had hoped at its formation. 

Restoration. Politics. Faith. 

War. 

As humbled as he was by the elevation to his current position, it could not last forever, but could he bring himself to move on once they had no further need of him? He no longer had the structure or the certainty of the Templar Order guiding his steps after all. His future for once was entirely his own. 

Well, maybe not entirely his own. 

Having caught the faintest trace of the familiar scent of her on the breeze that rustled the leaves on the evergreens overhead, he walked slowly into the glade. She was waiting for him. Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree that designated the extent of the clear open space on one side. Her lithe legs stretched out in the chill sunshine, her posture relaxed, his favourite smile on her lips.

Framed in dappled sunlight she jumped gracefully into the soft snow. At times the artistry she exhibited in her movements was nothing short of breathtaking, yet other times she was just as likely to display an endearing kind of adorable clumsy. A small lopsided smile crept onto his face. The woman was truly an enigma.

Approaching the stump that, in another life, had anchored the fallen tree, he stopped momentarily to drop the small bundle on top of it. A small collection of fruit that he had collected from the kitchens, and two small water skins wrapped in an old cloak in place of a blanket.

Approaching the fallen tree now he couldn’t help but drink in the sight of her as she stood waiting for him, watching him in turn.

She looked tired again. Worried. A faint tightness around her eyes. Touches of dark circles. Her cheeks pink in the chill air. 

“This place is simply stunning” she said, drawing closer to him as he began to unbuckle his sword belt in favour of the dull edged practice blade he had brought with him. Hanging the heavy sword and scabbard on the sturdy remains of a small branch that had stuck out from the fallen trunk. “How did you ever find it?”.

She stood by his elbow now, staring out at the wooded expanse that surrounded them. Looking sideways at her he replied ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck quickly with a gloved hand “Ah, actually it was Scout Harding who found it. Some of the new recruits were sneaking out of camp and using it as a - and, well, I had her follow a couple of them. I thought it best to discourage - well _that_ \- and the area does present an excellent training ground away from the keep proper. The space is of a size with our facilities at Skyhold.”

Having looked away in the process of buckling and adjusting his practice blade at his waist to his satisfaction, he carried on, oblivious to the look of wickedly bemused shock blooming on her face.

“I’ve been watching you and Cassandra train from time-to-time, but the sparing grounds in the keep are not exactly secluded, and you training with anyone tends to draw a crowd. Leliana worries constantly over enemies watchful eyes and any weakness, real or imagined, they may report back on - ”. 

Her hand on his breastplate stopped him mid-sentence. He started slightly, his concentration elsewhere he hadn’t noticed her draw closer to him. She was standing almost under his nose, so close that he could almost lean down and kiss her with barely a tilt of his head. From this angle she looked up at him through long lashes. All large eyes, exquisite cheekbones, and mischief. 

“So, let me get this straight”, her expression suggested that her carefully measured tone was the result of trying to reign in overwhelming glee at his expense. The result turning her voice unusually melodious. 

“You had our forces favourite rendezvous spot cleared just so you could use it to lure the Inquisitor here alone? The idea having come to you while secretly wishing to privately experience Cassandra chasing me around the sparring ground with her sword? Tell me”, she purred up at him, delight practically oozing from her, “in this fantasy of yours, were Cassandra and I clothed?”

Blushing ferociously his hand shot to the back of his neck which he began to rub furiously, “Maker! No, that’s not - I didn’t mean - It was not my intention to - I would never presume - I have the utmost respect for Seeker Pentaghast … !”. He spluttered on, in spite of her having collapsed laughing against his chest, hands tangling in his surcoat, pulling him closer still. Admitting defeat, and putting his arms around her, sighing deeply, hoping the heat in his face was diminishing. 

Speaking into the top of her head he murmured at her “You take far too much delight in teasing me, but it is a burden I will happily bear just to hear you laugh.”

“Martyr” she giggled softly into his breastplate.

He held her until her mirth had subsided. Snaking her hands around his neck, eyes sparkling with residual laughter, she kissed him softly on the lips. Not letting her get away that easily he enveloped her waist with his hands keeping her close, kissing her deeply. Fiercely. 

Struck by a sudden impulse he grabbed her suddenly, picking her up and twirling her around before depositing her gently nearer the centre of the glade. Laughing once more as the evergreens overhead danced around her, she had clung to his shoulders - “Cullen!” she gasped. 

“Inquisitor?”, he replied quietly. His mouth twitching into a charmingly wicked grin, intuiting her reaction. With a slight narrowing of her eyes, she replied in a long suffering tone, “Cullen, I have a name you know, please _do_ use it.”

Chuckling mostly to himself, he stole another quick kiss before leaning down to land a series of small kisses down the curve of her exposed neck, stubble tickling her skin, breathing her name into her ear as he did so.

Her shiver in response to his actions did not go unnoticed.

Still grinning he kissed her forehead, disentangling himself gently from her arms, he swaggered back towards the fallen tree, retrieving his shield. Settling it onto his arm he called over his shoulder, “Come Inquisitor! I will have my way with you before the day is out!”.

“Is that a promise or a threat Commander?”. 

Her laughter practically filled his ears, which were once again a ferocious shade of pink, as he was sure mirrored the rest of his face. 

Oh Maker’s breath! This had gone much better in his head!

Upon recovering from his latest bout of extreme verbal awkwardness, they sparred on and off for some time. Even though she still somewhat favoured her injured side, Cullen’s opinion was that she was perhaps a week away from being back to full fighting form.

Another weeks respite before he had to send, or at least be party to sending her, into danger. An icy stab to his gut punctuated that line of thought. His stomach turning uncomfortably.

He had managed to get inside her guard on three occasions, once swatting her on the bottom with the flat of his blade; the second time ducking close snatching a kiss on her forehead; the last, catching her on his shield, depositing her onto the snow with a soft “ _oomph_ ”. 

“I surrender!”, she proclaimed breathlessly after a long moment lying prone position in the snow, “do what you will with me!”. 

Having retired back to the fallen tree in his victory, he had quickly divested himself of his blade and shield, spreading the old cloak on the ground next to the stump.

Still lying in the snow she had propped herself up on her elbows, one eyebrow raised in askance at the piece of fruit that had landed neatly next to her head. 

Seeing him sitting comfortably, back against the fallen tree watching her merrily, fruit of his own in hand having set up his small picnic in the snow, she quickly, if with more of an air of clumsy over grace, picked herself up and taking a large bite of the ripe fruit, slowly wandered towards him. 

Tucking herself neatly into the curve of his arm, she sat lightly against him, accepting the water skin her passed her. “You know a gentleman would have helped me up” she teased him, wicked glee once again sparkling in her eyes. Leaning over to kiss her softly, “Well in that case, next time I will make sure to invite one.” 

They spent the time it took to eat chatting amiably, not touching on any heavy, personal or emotional topics, despite the seemingly overwhelming nature of the questions his heart anguished over. 

She had delighted at the small blade he had commissioned for her, making it dance across her fingers before disappearing it into a fold of clothing. Producing it again and waving it under his nose playfully when he had threatened to collect on her bravado some time later. 

As the sky began to darken, they headed back towards the path, not quite holding hands. Comfortable proximity.

All too soon, or so it felt, he was headed down towards the valley to check on the newly arrived scouts; she headed back to Skyhold.

Wearily returning to his office not long after full dark, he was vainly attempting to rub the lyrium withdrawal from between his eyes. Reassuring himself of her safe return to the keep having caught a brief glimpse of her speaking with Varric. With a small start, he was surprised to see Leliana sitting in the chair behind his desk. His eyes slow to adjust to the changing illumination.

“Commander”, she said as he entered. Concern underpinning her musical Orlesian accent. “You will want to see this.” She proffered a bloodstained piece of paper.


	3. Her Eyes Were As Vacant As The Seas

Cullen stood on the battlements as the vanguard of the storm broke around him. The sky alive with lightning. Deafened by thunder. Skyhold’s very bones seemed to shake at violence of it, and the true storm was still to come.

This wasn’t the tip of the spear. That implied a target. This was seeing the spear in an armoury and appreciating that its purpose was to be thrown. Sharp violence to wound, to scar. 

To kill.

A gust of wind tried to slam him into the battlements, but he stood firm. 

Pacing the confines of his office had soon given way to stalking the battlements. Stalking soon leaving him facing down the oncoming storm alone. 

There was, he mused, a certain kind of futility there.

Having ordered the soldiers on the wall to weather the storm in the towers, limited patrols moving to the courtyard level, increased watch on the gates, he had ended up here. 

Raging storm echoing the storm inside.

Another bolt of lightning tore the sky apart. Blinking in it’s wake he realised exactly where he was standing. The slight curve in the crenelations as they approached the stairs, the damaged merlon. 

Of all the places his feet could have taken them. 

He might have been more observant had Leliana’s last question not been haunting his steps. Her tone had changed, softened, his natural response had been not to answer, he was, guarded, when it came to matters he considered private. After a moment he had supposed with a rueful smile that it was nothing that he hadn’t asked of himself before. 

Answering quietly, his eyes searching for the nick in the doorframe where he had nearly hit the woman who had captured his heart with the trappings of his addiction in a fit of similar temper. “You and Cassandra have devoted most of your lives in service to the Chantry, as have I, it is easy to forget that not long ago hers was a different life, her destiny a different path”. 

He had still evaded the heart of the question, but she had accepted his answer. 

His fingers were aching. He realised that his hands had clenched into fists against the stone under them, leather straining over tensed knuckles. He forced his hands to relax, it was not yet clear that he wouldn’t be needing them to take up sword and shield again before the night was out.

Provided the threat hadn’t already been carried out.

After his conversation with Sister Nightingale he had armed himself in preparation for her return. As the minutes dragged on, and the storm made itself apparent on the horizon he made for the battlements, the slow smoulder of his temper returning to flame. 

After all the spymaster should have no trouble finding him.

How had this been allowed to happen! A bloody message delivered in the dark pinned to his office door.

A clap of thunder peeled overhead. Clutching his head he felt like a knife had pierced his temple. Looking down at his gloved hand he practically expected dark blood to stain the soft leather. 

He had pushed himself to his limits today, even past them perhaps, and now the arrival of a new threat may just find him wanting. 

The scent of the storm in the air reminded him of her. It surrounded him, filled his lungs, filled his head, wound itself around his heart. 

This was his failing. Darkness and danger stalked the night and he had done little to prepare them for it. As soon as the storm had passed he would corner the Seeker and insist she find his replacement, despite her objections. Despite _her_ faith that he could endure. The way her hand had lingered on his breastplate, the open concern in her features.

He would not see all that they had built here dissolve into ashes on the whim of his personal demons. 

With an elaborate crash the door of the ruined tower flew open in another strengthening gust. Leliana stood shadowed in the guttering candle light, bow slung across her body, full quiver evident. 

“Commander! We have a complication - ”, her musical Orlesian accent contrasting sharply against the thunder and wind. He had already closed the distance to her, menacing over her shorter frame in the doorway. 

It was beneath him, but he was angry. His emotions felt raw, not entirely under his control.

“What!” he barked down at her, inches from her face yet the noise of the storm necessitated the volume. At least in part.

“There appears to be some kind of event at the Herald’s Rest, the tavern is packed, and we don’t know exactly who is attending. Varric confirmed he had spoken to the Inquisitor when she returned from your excursion, but is unclear of her whereabouts since they spoke. It would be a simple thing for them to slip assassins into such a gathering.” 

He was already stalking past her, quick strides headed for his office, to the keep proper. He paused by the other door, his mind felt foggy, he needed to assess the situation. Plan. Defend. Think. 

The small axe embedded in the foot of the ruined bed caught his attention as it always did. He stared at it, focusing on it, calming his thoughts. He supposed no one had removed it for the same reason he had never tried.

“What of the others?” His tone more measured, the gale outside muted by the crumbling tower.

“I left Varric with Josephine in her office. He will see to her safety. All non-essential personnel have been removed to the barracks. Cassandra is waiting for us in the main hall - “, she broke off as he started moving again, throwing open the door exposing them to the worsening gale.

They made it to his office before the rain began in ernest. Water now cascaded in torrents across the bailey wall, making the stones treacherous footing. His arm held up, scant protection against the sting of the icy rain in his eyes, Cullen grabbed Leliana’s arm as a particularly fierce gust caught them part way across, throwing her off balance. The additional weight of his shield, and his bulkier build making him much harder to displace. Practically propelling her forward in front of him, they stumbled into the atrium of the main tower.

He registered irritably that Solas was no where to be seen, despite making this particular space his own. Growling under his breath he continued on, swiftly moving into the deserted hall. 

Cassandra was not waiting for them. He unsheathed his sword, snatching his shield from his back and seating it on his arm as he did so. Sensing his unease, Leliana had unslung her bow in a smooth motion, arrow ready. The heart of the Inquisition had never been this deserted.

The hall was surprising quiet given the breaking storm outside. Someone had closed and barred the main doors he observed, whether in an effort to keep the hunters out or the prey in was yet to be determined.

Having reached the hall proper, Varric’s customary haunt still laden with a small but hastily abandoned meal, Leliana quietly mused “After delivering such a cryptic yet menacing note, one that was sure would warrant our immediate attention, does it not seem unusual for them to strike this night, while our guard is heightened?”.

He grunted in response, his eyes scanning the area for threats, exposed as they were now with little cover affording them, high vantage points lost to dim illumination in the lofty ceiling.

She had a point.

“You believe we might be doing exactly what they expect of us. Rattle our cage, have us pull back to the keep, rouse our soldiers, defend the Inquisitor”. Were his hands shaking?

“She’s hardly helpless Cullen!” she replied with a low chuckle.

“I realise that!” he bristled, “It is my - “. She interrupted him patting his sword arm as she spoke, “You want to protect her. I understand, you want to protect the things you treasure. She on the other hand, wants to run her fingers through your hair - I hope you have you been letting her?”. His face turned from pink to white to red and back again under her impish smile.

Face still aflame he quietly cleared his throat, his mouth twitching with the faintest hint of a roguish grin as he growled “What the Inquisitor does or does not wish to do with me is and will remain _private_ ”.

“Not if you continue to do it on the battlements”. She started giggling again. He was beginning to find that sound more than a little irritating. 

With what felt like supreme effort he smoothed his features, “So where to from here? Other than the bloody note in the dark we appear to be chasing shadows”.

As if on cue, the door to the garden opposite them burst open in a loud crescendo of noise and light that caused both to fall into battle stances. Conversation forgotten. After a few moments Cullen relaxed, no enemies were pouring through, it must have been the work of the storm.

Sheathing his sword he went to secure the door but Leliana stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Leave it, if we are being followed the noise should hide our movements.” 

Surveying the empty hall, drapes rippling slightly in the air disturbed by the wind howling through the open door, this all seemed so out of place, “Do you honestly believe enemy agents are operating within Skyhold tonight?” 

Having replaced her bow so she carried it across her body, she replied solemnly, “We all knew that it was never a theory so much as a matter of time. We are not the only agency capable of such actions.”

Maker, his head was pounding now.

“Even so, I thought we - “ he sighed, his worsening headache had made his tone harsher than he intended, “I thought we were better prepared than this”. 

“Our people know their duty, you above all have seen to that Commander.” Rubbing his temple, it was not lost on him that he had spent most of the night raging at her, and now she was giving him a pep-talk. His lip curled in a small smile.

“At this point finding the Inquisitor could be leading them right to their intended target but …”, his voice trailed off. “It’s still our best course of action” she sighed, finishing his thought.

“We should secure the mezzanine first”, he mused peering upwards, “an archer up there would quickly make things unpleasant.” Nodding thoughtfully she replied, “None of the doors up there have bars and the way the rooms all connect - I’m not sure the mezzanine can be held, we would need more people”. 

She was right of course. He had a report detailing as much buried on his desk. Part of improving their defensive preparedness. His temper was rising again, the pain behind his eyes rising with it. Something else he had neglected. Cursing under his breath, “Well let us hope this incursion, or whatever it is, is limited then, they appear to have found us woefully unprepared!”.

With an eye for arrows falling from the balcony above he stalked across the hall to the door leading to the Inquisitors quarters. With the fog and pain in his head, the small hairs on his arm reacted too late to warn him of the ward on the door as it exploded in a violent burst of flame.

The final words of the note were in a cryptic Venatori cypher script that had taken them some time to translate: _In your heart shall burn_.


	4. Soon Said I

Cullen had never really considered how high the ceiling was before. The precise location lost in the darkness that the light of mere candles couldn’t begin to fathom. He started to wonder if he lay here long enough if it would start snowing, the cold air coalescing overhead, wisps of cloud billowing around the upper doorways, small flurries white against the floor, on the tables, in the corners, fog creeping across the floor in the library…

Half-groaning, half-sighing softly, he closed his eyes, covering them with his arm which in contrast made most of his muscles in his torso feel like they were on fire. Burning, white hot. He couldn't remember his symptoms being this bad before. This was a symptom of lyrium withdrawal wasn’t it? 

It was good that he was lying down, he should snatch a few moments rest before … what had he been doing? Something important no doubt. Most of his time seemed to be spent juggling tasks of competing importance of late, paperwork never ending, towers of reports to read. Except for today, he had been looking forward to today. Carefully planning and organising ... something. A small knot in his stomach, palms oddly sweaty. 

A beautiful woman was walking sensuously towards him, nibbling delicately on a piece of fruit, the red juice staining her lips. Snow clinging to her hair, crunching softly under her boots, lithe legs oozing grace as she exaggerated the feminine sway of her hips, enjoying his gaze. The way the dappled light through the trees played across the delicate angles of her face was making his stomach tighten. He could feel the corner of his mouth lifting in a wicked grin watching her cross the distance between them. His hands could remember the feel of her hip bones under her tight clothing. His mouth savouring the memory of sweet juice on cool lips. The way the slight breeze rustled her …

Where had the trees come from? 

And the snow for that matter, had it actually started snowing in here when he wasn’t looking? He eyed the dark ceiling suspiciously, only it was different to the one he had remembered, there was a hole…

He needed to focus, something just didn’t feel right. He had a vague recollection of urgency, of danger - Maker! Why was he so tired? His need was rest, it kept gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, why must he fight it? 

_Someone had told you to stay awake, that was why._ Someone very annoying. Of that he was sure. 

He seemed to be surrounded by annoying people of late. He hadn’t found time to escape to his secret spot by the lake and the house had been constantly filled with noise. Testing his young patience. And who was touching his face? He went to swat the hand away with his, only to have it caught in a firm grip. Maker that hurt! He kept his eyes closed, he wasn’t going to give his sister the satisfaction. 

Oddly he could hear snatches of conversation coming from … outside? He couldn’t quite tell. Why couldn’t they leave him to sleep! The sound was strange … oddly directionless, echoing. Hollow. He tried to concentrate on the voices. Voices? Yes. More than one. 

“… bad.”

“We have to …”

“… think we can get him to drink this?”

He thought he felt fingers brushed his jaw. Weren’t they outside? Where was he exactly? He tightened the muscles of his jaw instinctively. 

“How? … stubborn.” 

Someone patted his cheek.

“… here …” 

Fingers under his chin this time, gently forcing his head back. 

Did - was someone _kissing_ him?! 

White light blinded him as his eyes fluttered open of their own accord, he blinked, mouth opened to protest just as a bitter concoction of herbs was poured into it.

He continued to blink and cough for what felt like a long time. His vision was clearing slowly, but the voices were getting clearer, closer. Resolving into people. 

“I can’t believe that actually worked”, incredulity practically dripping from his voice, the odd lilt to his accent giving his origin an … otherness. Dorian?

“You and I my dear are are going to have a - very long, very detailed - conversation soon about precisely where you learned that exquisite little trick. I swear you’ve just revolutionised modern medicine!”, his chuckling getting quieter, boot heels clicking on the stone tiles. 

Cullen’s mind was rapidly clearing, whatever they had fed him was doing its work. He was mildly surprised to find himself sitting, something hard against his back, the throne? He was in the main hall? Why did it smell like woodsmoke? He struggled to think as his mind tried to make sense of what parts of the night had been real and what was imagined. 

Gentle fingers on the side of his face again. He concentrated, connecting the spots of colour in front of his vision to form a face. He could feel his cheeks go pink as the woman from his hallucination and the one from his dream merged into one. She was frowning slightly, hair dripping water, leathers soaked. Examining his forehead, she turned his head slightly, fingers running gently through his hair encountering tangles.

“Ouch” he said wryly, his eyes meeting hers. She favoured him with a small yet warm smile as she withdrew her hand, relief evident in her features. “How do you feel? Anything broken?”, her voice was soft, tired. He started to take a mental inventory of where the pain was the worst. “I don’t think so, but there are quite a few aches vying for my attention at the moment”. He had spoken truthfully, if evasively, resting his head back against the throne, resisting the urge to close his eyes and let them stay closed. Sighing, she touched the side of his face briefly with her marked hand, tracing the scar on his lip with her thumb. He loved it when she did that. Snatching a quick glance over her shoulder, she lent in and kissed him resting the tips of her fingertips against his breastplate as she did so. 

Pain. Broken rib, he definitely has a broken rib.

Boot heels clicking on stone grew louder and she pulled back, dropping her hand to his shoulder. Dorian came to stand behind the Inquisitor, studying a chunk of charred wood which was then casually discarded over his shoulder with another loud thunk when he saw Cullen was awake. “I’m glad to see you are back with us Commander. That was quite a spell on that door, exquisite craftsmanship, truly a work of art. Someone very powerful clearly wants someone here very dead.” 

The Inquisitor turned to look up at him, “You’re admiring their workmanship?”, he snorted before replying, “What I’m admiring my dear, is that we’re all still alive in spite of it. You forget that we were heading that way ourselves when all this madness started and frankly I would have been quite put out if the exceptional promise offered by the rest of my natural life was snuffed out by a piece of flaming joinery.”

Further conversation was interrupted at that point by the arrival of Leliana with healers and a team of agents in tow. With crisp precision they soon had the main hall secure, archers and guards posted, healers seeing to their charges and workmen removing the smouldering ruins of the door. 

It had taken two of them to extract him from his battered armour, but there was little they could do other than tightly bandage his ribs and clean and slave the cut on his temple. They had given him a another dose of healing herbs, this time more traditionally administered, and they had accepted his assurance that he would return to the infirmary should anything trouble him further or new symptoms present themselves.

Sitting on the dais next to the throne, trying to rid himself of some of the blood that had been drying on the side of his face with the end of his sleeve, he had been watching the discussion taking place in the middle of the hall. He should be joining them, but for once he found himself quite content to spectate, watching her in conversation with Dorian, Leliana, and Varric. 

Josephine, who had left the discussion some time before, appeared carrying a light blanket which she draped around his shoulders before sitting down lightly beside him, smoothing her short skirts around her crossed legs. “You looked cold without your mane Commander”, she said by ways of explanation, smiling innocently at him. Her teasing earned her a scowl, before it dissolved into a somewhat exasperated smile, “Thank you Ambassador”, he said finally. “Have they made any progress?”, she shook her head in response. “There were a small number of infiltrators, most of whom were engaged by the Seeker, until she was injured, by which time the Chargers had come pouring out of the Herald’s Rest and finished off the stragglers. No one has seen the lone archer since they shot at Dorian and the Inquisitor in the garden, and that just leaves the mage who spelled the door. Leliana thinks that he or she may have been the leader - “, she broke off as he interrupted her train of thought. “How extensive were the Seeker’s injuries?”, this wasn’t good, he needed to talk with her, persuade her to see reason. He wasn’t sure he succeeded in keeping his tone even.

“That was why Leliana took so long returning, she ran into Krem half carrying Cassandra across the courtyard. It was quite a story the way he tells it, lone warrior verses a pack of blood-thirsty assassins, like something out of one of Varric’s tales.” His mouth twitched into a small smile. “I would not suggest making that observation to her directly”, she giggled behind her hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it! The healers say nothing is broken, just bruised, but depending on who you talk to, her opponent was either a ferocious dwarf, or an inebriated giant. Either way, the stories agree that she was struck on leg by a war hammer, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the narrative continues changing until the Seeker is back on her feet, mercenaries are certainly fond of their tall tales. Apparently the healers had to sedate her just to keep her in the infirmary.“ He chuckled at that, as much respect as he had for Cassandra and for her position as a Seeker of Truth, he would not want to be in the mercenary’s shoes when she awoke. 

Josephine carried on narrating the nights events, “Dorian’s account of the archer on the roof was much more restrained, they were shot at, the Inquisitor pulled them both out of the way, Dorian went to immolate the archer but they had disappeared from the roof top. I think they were both very lucky I can’t imagine hearing a bow being drawn over all that rain and thunder”. He looked back over at her, his attention having wandered back to the group, to a particular member of the group specifically. As politically savvy as the Ambassador was, he had forgotten that she was not used to such overt displays of violence.

Varric had broken away from the group and was sauntering towards them, Bianca slung casually over a shoulder, hand on her grip, “Ruffles. Curly”, he greeted them. The self proclaimed storyteller had a voice that reminded him of strong liquor being poured through gravel. Even those ridiculous nicknames he insisted on using sounded compelling when delivered in a voice that purred like that. No wonder the man was a scoundrel, he could probably talk himself into or out of just about anything. 

Cullen still favoured him with a small scowl as he came to stand in front of them. “Orders straight from the Nightingale, Bianca and I have the great honour of escorting you to your bedchamber Ruffles”, he flourished his hand with a small bow. With a small giggle and a small long-suffering look at Cullen, Josephine accepted his hand and rose gracefully to her feet, linking arms with her dwarven protector made less awkward by not being of a great height herself. “Did I ever tell you the one about the heist at the Lucky Nug?”, she shook her head, “Well, it was a night not unlike this one, Bianca and I were …” they were soon out of earshot.

Deciding he couldn’t put it off any longer Cullen rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet, having to spend a long moment shaking off the spots that danced in front of his eyes. During that time Leliana had come to stand at his elbow, both pausing to watch Varric and Josephine heading further down the hall. He had not seen what had happened to either the Inquisitor or Dorian.

Starting to make their own way to the door leading to the atrium, Leliana was the first to break the silence as they crossed one of the rich carpets that dotted the old stone floor. “Are you heading to the infirmary? I should confer with Cassandra before turning in.” Being too weary to stop himself he chuckled, mirth turning to a groan as he was forced to hold his ribs. Even the slight escalation of pain wasn’t enough to dislodge the wry smile that decorated one side of his face, “I was heading back to my office actually, but I think you knew that”. 

Looking up at him from under her cowl she graced him with a small smile, eyes twinkling, “You may have seen through my clever ruse, but yes, I had assumed that was your ultimate destination”. They were silent again for a time, walking through the door into the round room, past the murals, menacing in the dim light. Pausing with her hand on the door leading out across the bailey wall, small flakes of snow being blown in through the slight opening, the rain having given way to snow while he was unconcious, Leliana stopped, turning to look up at him “Cullen, how were you able to dispel the flames?”.

The directness of the question threw him momentarily. “I am not sure”, he answered truthfully. The flames had been dispelled, he certainly hadn’t been burned, but whether it had been his Templar trained reflexes drawing on some hidden lyrium reserve, or some form of magical intervention just as the spell hit, he couldn’t say for sure.

She had studied his face closely as he considered his answer, no doubt looking for the small tells of an addiction hidden just below the surface. “It is a matter I intend to discuss with the Seeker, she has had more experience with this than I”. He was looming again, not realising that he had closed the distance between them as if to punctuate his last statement. With a curt nod, she started to open the door, forcing him to take a step back. 

As he walked through the door he caught a glimpse of the moon as the roiling clouds overhead briefly parted, he was shocked by how much time had passed. It couldn’t be more than a couple of hours before dawn.

“I’ve asked the smiths to see to your arms and armour, they should be as good as new in a few days”, closing the door behind them she hopefully missed the confused look he gave her as she abruptly changed topics on him again. Recovering, he thanked her, wrapping Josephine’s blanket more tightly around his shoulders against the sudden drop in temperature as they continued walking across the bailey wall.

“Josephine told me you believe their leader to still be unaccounted for”, she nodded, scanning the dark walls of the keep as they crossed. “We need more information. We are making too many assumptions based on the little we have. Whoever they are, they will slip up and I will be there to catch them when they do”. They were no more than two or three paces from his office door when they spotted it. Dark arrow buried in the middle of the stout door.

Leliana swung around in a fluid motion, unslinging her bow smoothly. Unarmed and unarmored there was little for him to do but squint at the darkened keep against the backdrop of a blackly overcast sky, looking for likely vantage points enemy archers might be using. He caught a small glint of something - armour perhaps? - from the balcony above the main entrance. Leliana had seen it too, taking a step forward, peering into the darkness. 

The wind was still strong enough to make further projectiles from that distance impossible, and the glint could just as easily have been from their own troops. He quickly scanned the arrow trying to intuit its origin, the shaft was almost perfectly parallel to the stone under his boots. It couldn’t have come from the balcony. 

Leliana turned to face him, her expression intense in the dim light. “It seems you have an enemy Commander.” He shook his head, it was not him they should be worrying about. Looking again at the darkened balcony, he opened the door cautiously, before allowing it to swing wider so Leliana to see past him into the candlelit room inside. A few of the candles had gutted in his absence, but there was still sufficient illumination around the desk for her to follow his line of reasoning.

“Oh no.” 

She had fallen asleep in his chair, a matching blanket to his wrapped tightly around her, her ankles crossed on his desk.

He had a bad feeling about this.


	5. And Where Will We Go

Cullen approached the roadside inn cautiously. The squat building’s pallor, a combination of smoke haze and neglect, speaking volumes as to what he could expect to find inside. Nickering softly his stallion danced a few steps before he could rein it in. No doubt as eager to be out of the incessant drizzle as his rider. Although taught to handle a horse as part of his Templar training, he never had much need for them, and as such the first day of travel out of Skyhold had been a miserable rediscovery of muscles long forgotten. Coupled with the pain from his still healing ribs and the weather, saying he had arrived at his destination in a temper was somewhat of an understatement.

Guiding the bay back to a walk, he shrugged back under the deep hood of his cloak. Now this fool’s errand could begin in ernest. Ostensibly having taken a turn for the worse a few days after the attack, he was recuperating from the trauma in isolation, when in fact he had departed under the cover of darkness through a carefully orchestrated set of gaps in the rotations of the guards. 

This type of cloak-and-dagger nonsense was far outside his purview, yet Leliana had convinced him nonetheless. Travel inside the border with Orlais. Go to a roadside tavern. Pick up a package. The item being of too great an import to trust to the usual network for such things _naturally_ , and the duration of his absence easily explainable by means of the happy coincidence of recent events. The ideal candidate to be off galloping along the road towards Halamshiral. His horse snorted as if reading Cullen’s thoughts and he patted the bay’s neck absently.

If anyone had been expecting to run into the Commander of the Inquisition's forces they would have had a hard time distinguishing him from any other sodden traveller on the highway. Master Dennet had seen him matched with a stout-chested Ferelden Forder from the Inquisition stable. Whom he was assured possessed an easy nature and was an appropriate match for a rider of his skill. And accent. Likewise, his plate armour pieces had been switched for scale, well made, but with a few subtle signs of use, his surcoat and mantle replaced by a dark utilitarian coat. He had managed to keep his own breeches and boots though by switching to old, unadorned spares he happened to still have with him. Shuddering, he couldn’t imagine anything worse than galavanting around the countryside wearing another man’s breeches. 

Reaching the large gate beside the inn, he was surprised to see the stables, huddled under the traditional blue tile roof, were clean and orderly. A young elven boy in a tidy if off-patched tunic and hose already waiting impatiently just out of the rain to collect Cullen’s reins as he fussed at unfastening saddlebags and bedroll with stiff fingers in unfamiliar gloves. 

Flicking the youngster a small coin, he asked for the bay to be rubbed down and fed an extra handful or so of oats, to which the boy nodded, wide-eyed. Cullen left him holding the coin in between two thin fingers as if it were a thing from fable, before the big bay nickered at him, taking himself into the stable, dragging the boy behind, as if to remind him that he wasn’t earning that coin standing still.

Smiling wryly, Cullen shook his head and the water from his cloak before settling the garment back around his shoulders. Hefting the canvas wrapped bedroll over his shoulder, he carried his saddlebags through the small side door into the inn proper. 

Like most common rooms he had experienced, the floor was covered with straw, the odd assortment of benches, tables and stools arranged to provide patrons wishing it as much exposure to the twin fireplaces as possible. The illumination enough to ensure that dark corners were abundant for those that didn't. 

Again contrary to its exterior, the inside of the inn was well kept under the scruffy edges. The tabletops showing signs of having been recently and thoroughly scrubbed, the straw fresh. Perhaps the smoking fireplace and peeling paint were merely a facade meant to deter undesirable travellers? He would never understand Orlesians. 

Making his way through the faint haze to the bar, his eyes casting side-to-side noting the positions of his fellow patrons and their armaments as he went, he found the proprietor waiting for him, polishing a cup with a clean scrap of cloth. “Welcome traveller, looking for a room for the night?”, his Orlesian accent made thicker by his fearsome moustache. Steel grey despite little evidence of his years peppered through his long hair, which was tied back neatly with a thin strip of leather. The rest of the man was almost entirely unremarkable compared to that lip-monster. “If you have one available”, Cullen replied casually, trying not to stare at it, propping his saddlebags against the thin wood panels of the bar. Carrying the extra weight even that short distance had made his ribs ache. The man regarded Cullen with hooded green eyes, no doubt calculating the worth of his purse based on his attire. “I have a single room, near the back, window overlooking the stable if it suits you”, he went back to polishing. They went about haggling although Cullen had enough coin on him that he could have probably rented every room in the place for the next week. But that would have drawn attention.

Settling on a price that was around three-fifths of what was originally sought, he soon found himself following the man's narrow back up the stairs to the dimly lit room. Sparsely furnished, it contained a reasonable looking bed, washstand that doubled as a side table and a lockable trunk at the end of the bed for possessions. He had certainly stayed in far worse establishments and parted with more coin for the privilege.

Once the innkeeper had left to see to his other guests, Cullen unburdened himself of his saddlebags and bedroll with a grateful sigh. Taking a quick look out the window, he noted that there didn’t seem to be any obvious structural elements that would aid someone attempting to climb in the window. However, having heard enough stories, he imagined that the lack of basic handholds wouldn’t deter someone truly committed. He returned his attention to his baggage. 

Anything of true value being secreted away on his person, he was not overly concerned with leaving his so-called belongings unsupervised. Starting the unpacking process, he picked out and hung anything that had come in contact with the miserable drizzle to dry on pegs behind the door. Finally, he liberated a small bag of toiletries and an oil-cloth wrapped book from one of the wide pockets of the saddlebags, before depositing them wholly in the trunk. Fixing his hair and washing the ubiquitous grime of travel off his face and hands, there was nothing else for it but make himself visible enough that Leliana’s agent could find him and he could leave this blasted charade behind. Carefully unwrapping the book, he threw the scrap of oil-cloth onto the bed as he took a final look at his surroundings to see if anything looked too out of place. Or too orderly perhaps? How did genuine Ferelden mercenaries arrange their rooms exactly? Maker’s Breath! Locking the trunk and pocketing the key, he closed the door and made his way back into the haze of the common room before he afforded himself the opportunity to dwell on the arrangement of his gear further. 

Even in the short time he had been absent, the number of patrons in the large rectangular room had doubled. Opting to seat himself at one of the small tables along the far wall which afforded him a clear enough view of the entrances and the stairs, he began nursing a mug of ale. It seemed no time at all before he was surrounded by the hustle of local workers come to escape their toil and travellers, like himself, looking for respite from their journeys. 

Packing it as an afterthought, the book proved to be an excellent distraction as it saved his eyes leaping to scrutinise every person who came and went in the manner of someone waiting impatiently for a stranger. Although truth be told, he hadn’t absorbed a word of it. His mind too busy teasing at the knot of why he was here in a nondescript roadside inn instead of behind his desk at Skyhold in the first place. There were certainly easier ways to get him out of the keep if that was the Nightingale's intent. A whole camp full of recruits in the frozen valley below needing training for instance. Something requiring his presence at Griffon Wing or Caer Bronach. Visiting the forward camps even. A simple order...

He sighed.

Turning the page, he caught another glimpse of the slender Elvish woman who had been going from table-to-table. Pretty, her hair pulled back in a pale braid that hung to her waist, she was most likely the mother of the stableboy from the yard. Their features sharing a similar look. With the casual speed and vigilance of one forced to constantly navigate around the inebriated, she approached from what he had determined to be the kitchen. “Taking dinner orders now if anyone hungers”, she said addressing the occupants of the tables in earshot. There were a few takers, with loud enquiries as to the dish of the day (stew with vegetables) and money changing hands.

“What about you sweet-thing, what can I get you?”, Cullen's head shot up, he hadn’t felt the soft touch of her hand on his sword-arm. “Ah - yes, the stew sounds good”, he cleared his throat, leaning back, hoping to put a little bit of distance between them. Smirking slightly, she nodded, picking up his empty tankard and adding it to a tray he hadn’t noticed she was carrying. “Another?”, she enquired. He nodded, passing her a couple of coins that were about what he owed. With a warm smile and a wink, she pocketed them and carried on to the next table. 

A short time later the blonde elf with the help of another from the kitchen, all dark curls and sharp cheekbones, began serving meals with the careful efficiency borne of long practice. The noise in the room receded a little as patrons took to their food. The air filling with the promise of warm spices. Brushing up beside him as she placed food and drink before him, the blonde elf once again regarded him with the kind of curiosity in her eyes that made his stomach knot uncomfortably. The urgency of her task most likely the only thing that saved him from further scrutiny. 

Considering the arrangement of food now in front of him, he picked up the heel of bread, still warm from the oven, and breaking off a chunk, dunked it in the bowl. Watching as the thick sauce soaked into it, wisps of steam tickling his nose. The stew lived up to the promise of it’s aroma, hearty and well seasoned, with just a touch of heat, and the vegetables that accompanied it were equally moorish. He had little problem cleaning the plate. The close of the meal saw many of the local patrons start returning to their homes. Farmers and other early risers most likely. The reduction in numbers not dulling the din that marked the switch to harder liquor made by many of those remaining. He went back to his book, no one save the elven serving girl had shown any interest in him so perhaps the courier had been delayed. 

The departure of another sizeable pack of local workers, around an hour later, saw the common room split into small pockets of travellers and groups of hard drinking regulars. Having had more than his fill of the noise and starting to feel the beginnings of a headache, he picked up his book and abruptly left his table. Leliana’s people should have no problem finding him after all. Stopping at the bar, he ordered a large glass of whiskey from the innkeeper, and retreated to his room. 

Placing both book and glass carefully on the side of the washstand, he unbuckled his sword, propping the wide blade against the wall and sat on the bed with a loud sigh. A low buzz all that could be heard from downstairs. Wasting no time he began carefully unfastening his armour, checking and cleaning each piece, just as he had been taught all those years ago. Moving around the small confines of the room as he worked, he was soon lost in the rhythm of familiar chores, stacking the armour pieces under the washstand as he went. 

The arrival of full dark found him dozing on the bed clad only in his breeches, surrounded by the warm wings of his last dram. Having rid himself of his damp shirt and the cursed bandages underneath he absently scratched at the largest bruise of his collection. A large blue-black brute directly over the ribs he had broken. Less than a day on the road and it had started to itch fiercely, a good sign, but annoying. His last thought before succumbing to sleep, how he missed the sound of steady rain on roof tiles.

The room was completely dark when he woke, not entirely sure if the noise that had roused him was real or imagined. Eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom, he heard the faint russell again. Someone was in the room. Easing himself up slowly, his torso stiff and uncooperative, he came face to face with a figure clad head to toe in darkness, deep hood obscuring her features. Black leather doing little to obscure her curves though. 

“Cullen -?”, her voice was a quiet whisper but he recognised it immediately. Taking an uneasy step forward she collapsed. Barely awake he acted solely on reflex leaping to his feet and pulling her roughly against him. She was soaked through and ice cold. Picking her up gently, he laid her on the edge of the bed. Fingers going to the pulse in her neck, which thankfully beat softly against his fingers. Relaxing, he ghosted his thumb along the line of her jaw, causing her to stir.

“I promise I’m not dead”, she mumbled against his palm, nuzzling into the familiar callouses of his hand. “I’m glad, but you do half look it”, his managed to mask the concern in his voice as he took a closer survey of her condition in the scant light that was filtering in through the window. Her left upper arm was wrapped with a strip of dark fabric, her coat scraped and torn in places. With great care he pushed back her hood with his free hand wincing at the angry cut that mirrored the arch of her cheekbone.

“Can you sit up for me?”, she murmured something incoherent against his palm, but managed to prop herself up enough with some help that he could peel off her sodden coat and most of the layers underneath, which soon joined her boots on the floor. Pulling the blanket off the end of the bed he wrapped her tightly in it as she started to shiver in ernest. Scooping her up he pulled back the remaining covers on the bed and carefully laid her in it, climbing in beside her, he hugged her close. She soon quieted, soaking up the warmth of his body.

He didn’t remember dreaming, but woke when she did, having startled herself suddenly out of sleep, still curled up against his chest. He kissed her forehead, wrapping his arm more tightly around her. Enjoying their proximity, they lay together quietly in the darkness for a time. Tilting her head back, her hand sought the side of his face, her lips finding his. One kiss lead quickly to another, then another. She looped her leg over his. He rolled them over, sitting up. Crossing her ankles behind his back, she settled in his lap. Now at least he could make out some of her features in the weak light. Fingers gently cupping her chin, he briefly examined the cut on her cheek. It didn’t look too bad, but it would need dressing.

“You seem to be making dramatic entrances quite a habit”, he observed wryly, leaning forward, kissing the side of her neck. “It wasn’t my intention”, she looped her arms around his neck, slender fingers stroking his hair. “I was just so tired, I saw you and… stopped...”, she kissed the scar on his lip. He sighed. “So that’s the effect I have on certain beautiful women then”, he mused, pulling her closer. “You make them feel safe”, she whispered against his lips. “Unconsciously”, he countered. 

The blanket slipped off her shoulders as he kissed her, his hands suddenly encountering a tantalising expanse of smooth skin. “I think I owe Leliana an apology”, he observed, trailing a small series of kisses along her collarbone, causing her to giggle. “Oh, you haven’t fulfilled your duty quite yet. You might feel differently if this rain doesn’t abate”, she squirmed away from his whiskers, looking over her shoulder at something lying on the floor in the gloom. “We still have to get the cypher back to Skyhold. They don’t exactly grow on trees, even in the Western Approach, someone will be missing it soon enough”, she added with a shiver, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes as she turned her attention back to him. 

“No wonder you’re dead on your feet”, even travelling quickly, the Approach was more days of hard travel away than had passed. Making the journey in half that time spoke to a frantic pace with little respite. “You should sleep”, he urged again as they shared another languid kiss, his hands closing on her hips in spite of his words. “You taste like whiskey”, she suddenly changed the subject. Her thumb tracing the lines of his face as her scarred palm tingled against his cheek. “I believe there’s some left if you care for it?", he noted as her legs tightening around his hips as she pulled herself up against the hard muscle of his chest. “I’d rather have you…”, her breath warm against his ear. 

Then she yawned.

With a chuckle he slowly spun them around until he was gently pressing her into the mattress. “Sleep”, he breathed in her ear, “I’ll still be here in the morning”. With one last deliberate kiss, he disentangled himself from her embrace as she curled up on her side, facing the window. Retrieving the discarded blanket, he draped it over her before settling down beside her. One hand coming to rest on the subtle curve of her lower belly as she relaxed against his chest. Once again seeking his warmth. 

Having nothing to distract him now, the ache in his ribs reasserted itself with a dull and incessant throb. Trying to put the annoyance out of his mind, he concentrated on the sound of the rain, falling now in earnest on the other side of the window. After a time his thoughts began to wander as sleep started to claim him once again. 

The necessity of a cypher of some kind suggested the acquisition of coded correspondence, which was the first he had heard of any such thing. And why the urgency? The excessive secrecy? The Inquisitor travelled widely and brought back many strange items, surely one more would have drawn little notice? Something was just not _right_. Concentrating, he reached out with his senses. Although he had far less control over his Templar abilities now that he was no longer taking lyrium, Cassandra seemed to believe that he would still retain some of his capacity. At first he could detect nothing, then something skittered across his perception like a spider in the dark. With a shudder he hugged his lover closer. The sooner they returned to the safety of Skyhold, the better.

**Author's Note:**

> I've stayed with a generic (female) Inquisitor for this particular chapter, although mine is a mage and there may be some mage elements that seep through later chapters - will add beginning notes indicating this in case anyone wants to skip specifics.


End file.
